by Jon C. Scott
Soon, one of the sheriff’s servants came to the market and announced that all the butchers had been invited to lunch at his master’s home. They looked surprised. Although the Sheriff thought nothing of raising the taxes of the townspeople, and although he lived well himself, he seldom invited people to his home. And on the few times that he did, there wasn’t much food and drink.
“Welcome, everyone,” the Sheriff said as the butchers entered his house. “And where is this butcher everyone is talking about, the one who sells his meat so reasonably?” When they pointed to Robin, the Sheriff walked up to him, embraced him and announced that he was to be the guest of honour and sit at the host’s right side.
Although the food wasn’t good and there wasn’t much of it, and the wine was watered down, Robin loudly thanked his host for his generosity. “I would like to show my appreciation by buying some of your best wine to share with my fellow butchers.” He opened his purse and slapped on the table the coins he’d earned from the sale of the meat, horse and cart. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he added two more pounds.
The Sheriff ordered his servant to bring out some of his better wine—just enough for everyone to have another drink. When the glasses were filled, Robin stood up, and in a booming voice, he announced a toast to such a fine host.
“I have heard that you have decided to give up being a butcher,” the Sheriff said quietly when Robin sat down. “Do you have any cattle you would consider selling to me? I’d certainly offer you a good price.”
“Why, I have more than 300 horned beasts—all of them fat and healthy. They are worth at least 1,000 pounds for the lot,” Robin replied. “But because you have been so kind to me, I would be happy to sell them for 500.”
The Sheriff knew that that many horned beasts in good condition were worth much more than 1,000 pounds. But he explained to Robin Hood that he was currently short of money and that the most he could offer would be 300 pounds.
“That is a good offer, and I accept it, my friend,” said Robin loudly. He slapped the Sheriff heavily on the back. The other butchers shook their heads.
Being the deceitful man that he was, the Sheriff didn’t trust anyone else. Perhaps, he thought to himself, these cattle aren’t as good as the foolish butcher says they are. Perhaps the fool may decide to call off the deal. So he decided that he’d better collect the cattle quickly.
The Sheriff pushed back his chair, stood up and announced to his lunch guests that the feast was over and they could leave, all except the young butcher who’d agreed to sell his cattle. He said to the foolish butcher, “I’m sure you are anxious to get these animals off your hands and receive your payment. We could leave now with a few of my men so that I can collect the cattle and be home before sunset.”
Robin agreed, and soon the small group set out. The Sheriff and his men rode horses, and Robin trotted on foot beside them. It was not long before they reached the spot where Robin had bought the horse and cart.
“We will follow this trail,” Robin explained. He pointed to a path that led off the King’s Highway. “Soon you will see many of my horned beasts.” The group headed deep into the forest.
The Sheriff began to look a little worried. “Are you sure this is the right way? These are the woods that hide Robin Hood. Aren’t we in danger?” he asked.
“Not at all,” came the reply. “Why, I assure you that Robin Hood would no more harm you than I would. He is a man who loves all honest people. But watch carefully, Sir Sheriff, you may see a few of the horned beasts wandering among the trees. Look, there is one, just beyond the big oak tree.”
When the Sheriff looked and saw a magnificent buck, he began to be more than a little worried. He glanced behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the highway, but he could see nothing other than the trail winding through the trees.
“Perhaps I won’t buy your horned beasts, young butcher. I really should return to the King’s Highway and head back to Nottingham Town before darkness falls,” he told Robin, in a voice that trembled slightly.
“But, my dear Sheriff,” Robin replied genially, “before you return to town, I must repay your hospitality. We shall enjoy good meat and drink.”
The Sheriff’s face turned white. He was about to order his men to turn back when he noticed men with longbows standing in the shadows. He suspected now that this foolish butcher might be Robin Hood and that he and his men might be in considerable trouble. “I do not like this place,” he said aloud, in a voice that sounded very worried.
Robin pretended not to notice the Sheriff’s nervousness. “Good sir, spur your horse and tell your men to hurry, for I smell good food a-cooking. We shall have a feast.” He took the reins of the Sheriff’s horse and led it forward. Soon they entered a large clearing.
“I’m home,” he called out. “And I’ve brought a special guest with me.”
Dismay spread across the Sheriff’s face. He could see no horned beasts. But he could see many men, big strong men, and all of them carried bows and arrows or quarterstaffs.
“Let me be gone, Robin Hood, you rogue,” he ordered angrily.
“You may go soon. But it would be poor hospitality if I didn’t offer you and your men a hearty meal.”
The Sheriff could do nothing but agree to stay. He knew that if he tried to break away, he would be captured. And so, when Robin sat at a rough table set beneath a spreading oak and invited his guest to take the place of honour at his right side, he did so.
It was a wonderful meal, roast venison seasoned with wild herbs, all washed down with flagons of nut brown ale. The Sheriff recognized that this was a much better meal than the one he’d served to the butchers only a few hours ago.
He began to relax. Robin didn’t seem to have any ill will toward him. He’d return home safely. Of course, he wouldn’t have any cattle. But he’d still have the bag of coins that he’d hidden under his coat.
“The sun is getting low,” he said to Robin. “I thank you for your hospitality, but we must leave now. We won’t be able to find our way to the highway in the dark.”
“But stay, good sir; enjoy one more flagon of our delicious ale to warm you as you travel home. Do not worry about the darkness, for my men know the way to the King’s Highway as well at night as in broad daylight.”
Reluctantly, the Sheriff accepted another flagon of ale. It was dark when he stood up and announced that he and his men really must go.
“Of course,” Robin replied genially. “But before you go, there is the small matter of payment for the meal you and your men have enjoyed. Here, we feed poor people and charge nothing; but the rich must pay and pay well. That is how we are able to help the poor.”
He turned to Little John, who stood nearby, and said, “Certainly our guest would not object to paying 300 pounds for such a fine feast. I’m sure he brought that much money with him to pay for the horned beasts.”
“But,” stammered the Sheriff, “I do not have 300 pounds with me. I had intended to give you 100 pounds for your horned beasts now and send the rest to you when I got them safely home. Besides, they aren’t cattle, they’re wild deer—and all the wild deer in the forest belong to the king. They aren’t yours to sell.”
“But they are horned beasts, my friend. That’s what I said they were. And I think you have 300 pounds to pay for the fine meal.” Robin Hood turned again to Little John and said, “Little John, doesn’t that look like a rather large bulge under the Sheriff’s coat? I doubt that it was made by all the food he ate.”
Little John found the bag of money. He handed it to Robin, who opened it and spilled the coins on the table. “We must make sure we take only 300 pounds. We would not want to overcharge our guest.” But when they had counted the money, they found that there were only 295 pounds.
“Doubtless the Sheriff was in so great a haste to buy our horned beasts that he didn’t count correctly. But let us be generous and accept what he has offered us for the meal.”
Then, when the horses had been b
rought to the Sheriff and his men, Robin and six of his men led their guests out of the clearing and along a winding trail. By the time they reached the King’s Highway, the Sheriff was thoroughly confused and frightened. “Where are we? Where are you taking me?” he asked.
A full moon was shining, and Robin Hood pointed the Sheriff’s horse in the direction of town. “You should be able to find your way home from here easily. May you have a safe journey,” Robin said.
“And,” he called, as the horses disappeared into the distance, “do come to visit us again. You’ll always be welcome.”
Robin Hood whistled happily as he and his men walked back to the campsite deep in Sherwood Forest.
He wasn’t bored anymore.
How MAUI Discovered the Secret of Fire
HAWAII :: From New Zealand to Hawaii, the Polynesian people told stories about the legendary hero Maui. Half-god and half-human, he played tricks on friends and enemies, sometimes for selfish reasons and sometimes to help others.
Maui’s mother and his three older brothers were very angry at him. He had let the cooking fire die out. Years ago, people could get more fire from the volcano when the cooking fire went out. But now the volcano was extinct. That’s why the job of taking care of the fire, feeding it wood and sheltering it from rain showers with taro leaves, was so important.
The day it was Maui’s turn to take care of the fire, he had been so busy daydreaming and planning tricks to annoy his brothers that he hadn’t noticed the rain clouds overhead. When the first drops hit him, he rushed to find some leaves to cover the fire. But it was too late. The rain had put the fire out and turned the ashes to mud.
Now everyone would have to eat their fish raw, and they wouldn’t enjoy delicious baked bananas. “At least you can do something useful,” Maui’s older brother grumbled one morning as he shook Maui awake. “Help us paddle the canoe. Even if we have to eat them raw, we still have to catch fish.”
The four brothers paddled out from the island just as the sun cast its first light on the hills that rose behind the family’s home. Maui stopped paddling and gazed at the land. “Get to work,” his brothers growled. But he kept gazing.
“Look!” he cried out. “Up in the hills! There’s smoke coming out from the trees. Take me ashore, and I’ll see if I can find some fire.”
“Not just yet, you lazy fellow. You just want to get out of work. It’s probably the morning mist. If there’s still some smoke when we’ve finished our job, then we’ll let you look for fire.”
Late in the afternoon, as they headed home, their boat filled with fish, Maui cried out again: “The smoke is still there! Please, let me ashore!”
The oldest brother told the others to paddle to the beach. He didn’t think much would come of Maui’s search, but now that the job of fishing was done, it was worth a try.
Maui raced across the sand and up the steep hillside. He could smell the smoke, and soon he heard some clucking noises. As he rushed excitedly through the trees, he could smell the delicious aroma of baking bananas.
A flock of alae hens were cooking bananas. They heard Maui crashing through the bushes. “Quickly, sisters,” one of them cried out, “put out the fire. Someone is coming to steal the fire that the gods gave to us.”
The hens scratched sand over the coals and flew off.
Maui grabbed a stick and started raking through the sand, looking for live coals. But the fire was completely dead.
Maui arrived home at sunset. As he and his brothers ate the raw fish and cold bananas that his mother had prepared, he told them what had happened on the hillside.
“You were right,” his oldest brother said after Maui had finished telling his story. “The next time we go fishing, we’ll leave you behind to look for fire. Perhaps, if you’re more patient, you can sneak up and get some. It certainly would be nice to have some broiled fish and baked bananas and to be able to see what we’re eating.”
Early the next morning, only three brothers paddled their canoe to the fishing grounds. Maui stayed onshore. He crept very quietly to the edge of the clearing where he had seen the alae hens the day before. There were no hens around, so he sat and waited for them to arrive. None did, and as the sun sunk lower in the west, he returned home.
The brothers tried their plan for the next two days. Both times, no alae hens came to the clearing. On the second night, Maui was unusually quiet.
“What’s the matter, little brother?”
“I’ve been thinking. Perhaps the hens are watching our canoe every morning, and when they see that there are only three people in it, they don’t light their fire. They know that I’ve stayed back to steal it.”
The brothers agreed. They decided that all four of them would go fishing the next day. Sure enough, as soon as they had paddled away from the island, a thin column of smoke rose from the hillside.
Again, at dinner, Maui sat quietly thinking. Finally, he told his brothers that he had a plan. “Tomorrow, before the sun comes up, let’s put a large calabash covered with tapa cloth where I usually sit in the canoe. That way the hens will think I’m with you, and maybe they’ll start their fire.”
The next morning, by the time the canoe was halfway to the fishing grounds, smoke rose from the hillside. This time, Maui crept even more quietly toward the clearing. Soon he heard the cackling of the hens. Then he smelled baking bananas. He moved closer. He saw the fire and five birds watching the cooking fruit. A sixth bird stood close to the edge of the clearing, its beady eyes surveying the taro bushes.
A gust of wind blew aside the leaves that Maui was hiding behind, and the watching alae called out a warning. “Put out the fire, he’s here!”
In an instant, the fire was covered with sand. The alae’s warning had worked. But the bird was so close that Maui was able to lunge out from the bush and grab her by the neck.
The hen squawked shrilly and flapped her wings in a frenzy. But Maui held tight. “You have fire, but you won’t share it with others,” Maui told her. “How can we cook?” he asked. “How can we see properly when the night comes? You must tell me where you hide it and give some to us.”
“That is our secret. The gods gave the fire to us, and we won’t share it. You will never find it.”
Maui started to squeeze the alae’s neck. “If you kill me,” she sputtered, “you’ll never find the fire. Let go of me, and I’ll tell you how to find it.”
Maui knew that if he let the bird go, she would fly away and he’d never discover the secret of fire. So he tied her up. Then he threatened the alae. “Tell me, or I’ll grab you by the neck again.”
“It’s hidden in the taro leaves,” said the alae. “Take two of them and rub them together until they start to burn.”
Maui took two of the leaves, placed them together and began to rub vigorously. Nothing happened. He rubbed harder. Then the leaves began to turn soft in his hands. Finally, they became a green mush.
“You tricked me,” Maui snapped at the hen. He grabbed her by the neck and began to choke her again.
“Stop, I’ll tell you,” gasped the alae. “If you choke me to death, you’ll never learn the secret.” Maui let go. “Take two dry sticks from that bush over and rub them together. That’s really where I hid the fire.”
And so Maui cut two sticks and began rubbing one against the other. Nothing happened.
“This is your last chance,” he yelled as he grabbed the alae by the neck once again. “If you don’t tell the truth, you will die.”
“Cut a stick of sandalwood and pick up that piece of hau wood that’s lying beside the fire. That’s where the fire is hidden. Make a point at the end of the sandalwood stick and put it into the groove of the hau. Then start spinning the stick back and forth between your hands as fast as you can. And don’t stop.”
Maui sat down, held the hau wood between his feet and put the stick in the groove. The first few times he tried to spin it, the stick slipped out of the groove. But gradually, he discovered how to keep it in pl
ace while it was spinning.
Sweat began to form on Maui’s forehead as he pressed the stick down and spun it between his hands. Blisters formed on the palms of his hands. The only thing that happened to the hau wood was that a small pile of tiny shavings had formed around the point of the sandalwood stick.
He became angrier and angrier. The hen had tricked him again. I’m going to put my fingers around her throat and give her neck a real spin, he thought. That would teach her a lesson. He was just about to throw the stick down when he noticed a tiny wisp of gray smoke coming from the pile of shavings.
The blisters on his hands stung, but he spun the stick backward and forward as fast as he could. More and more smoke rose from the pile of shavings. Suddenly, a little flame burst out. Maui dropped the pointed stick and clapped his hands with excitement. He’d discovered where the alae had hidden the fire.
The flame burned the little pile of shavings and flickered out. Maui wasn’t worried; he knew that he could get fire whenever he needed it. He would need only a pointed sandalwood stick and a piece of hau wood.
But he was still angry at the alae. He grabbed her by the throat with one hand and held her up. “I’m not going to kill you. But you deserve to be punished for refusing to share the secret of fire with people when they needed it. I had to rub that hau wood very hard with the stick to make fire. Now I’m going to rub your head.”
Maui rubbed the alae’s head until all the feathers came off and the front of her head was as red as fire. “Now when people see you or your descendents, they’ll see the red head and remember that you wouldn’t share fire,” Maui told her.
And to this day, all the alae hens in Hawaii have red foreheads.
Maui happily returned home, carrying the sandalwood stick and piece of hau. When the brothers came back from their fishing trip, they could smell roasting bananas as they walked up the path to their home. Maui told them about the secret of fire as they cooked fish for their dinner.